


Conversations with Justice

by Thessalian



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thessalian/pseuds/Thessalian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even the greatest scholar can tell where Anders ends and Justice begins ... but everyone argues with themselves over right and wrong. Anders just has a better excuse than most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations with Justice

When the stranger came, with her motley entourage that included a crossbow-toting dwarf and a member of the city guard, Anders' response to her query was, "I will be happy if I never think about the blighted Deep Roads again."

Even as he spoke, the words nagged from within. **A poor excuse. The Deep Roads have been thought of already; the damage has been done, and easily mended by giving this woman what she requires. It costs nothing to do this, and might save lives. It is unjust to withhold.**

 _I know. I don't intend to._

 **Why prevaricate, then?**

Anders didn't answer that in his head. Instead, he demonstrated to that other part of him exactly what he meant. "Although ... a favour for a favour..."

 **Bargains for lives? Unworthy!**

 _Unjust not to do anything and everything within my power to help Karl. I will not be made to feel guilty over this._

"I would help any mage in such circumstances, maps or no," said the stranger named Hawke, her tone sincere and heartfelt. She ignored the burly young man who bore a brother's resemblance to the stranger as he grumbled about angering the Templars and the trouble it would buy. Here, it seemed, was a mage after his own heart, helping her fellows heedless of the danger it posed to herself.

 **See? Had she simply been asked with no strings attached, this might have been achieved more fairly,** chided the voice of Justice, and he felt the sting of it, because of course it was true and he had needed no reminder. His only response was to close his eyes and silently grumble, _Shut up._

Then he arranged the meeting, and prayed with all his twinned soul that it would not come to bloodshed. He did not want Hawke to bleed for his cause. It would be ... unjust.

Later, when Karl was freed of the colourless existence of the Tranquil and a half-dozen Templars lay dead at their feet, they returned to his clinic. As he led the way, Anders overheard a snippet of conversation between his new allies, all of whom needed healing of some kind or other, from somewhere behind him. "I think Bianca's gotten scratched."

"I'm more worried about your arm", Hawke told him. "You can't fix that with a good buffing and some walnut oil."

"Oh, I don't know. Hey, why don't we try it on your shoulder blades and see?"

"Don't even joke, dwarf," said Hawke's brother. "Oh, and while we're on the subject: _we are never doing that again_ , hear me? Mother would kill me if I let you get stabbed to death by Templars."

Varric chuckled. "Oh, come on, Junior. She only got stabbed _half_ to death by Templars."

"Yes, while tall, blond and abominazing over there didn't lift a bloody finger. Don't they call him the Healer? Or does his magic only work on pox and wasting? Or," the dark-haired tree of a man went on, sounding bitter, "does the plight of his fellow mages stop outside the bedroom?"

"Carver!" Hawke lowered her voice at that point, but Anders could more or less follow her tone of voice, which projected 'none of your business' and 'shut up'. Apparently, Carver was getting something of an earful. It was just as clear that this was not the first time and would not be the last.

 **The snivelling boy has a point.**

 _I didn't see you helping!_

 **We sought justice for Karl Thekkla.**

 _And it blinded you to all else!_

 **Blinded _us_.**

That simple truth turned Anders' relatively simple mental conversation into a jumbled mass of self-recrimination, self-justification and pity, for himself as well as the apostate Hawke who had allied herself with him so easily. And through the entire snarl of conflicting thoughts and emotions rose a single, implacable truth: **She took blows meant for us. It was allowed. That was unjust.**

He took special care when healing her wounds, particularly the two deep gouges in her shoulder blades. Carver's, he disinfected with the most astringent, stinging ointments he could come up with. He waited for guilt and disapproval to well up inside him, but it never came, so Anders carried on. As he worked, he thought, _I'll be more careful. This shouldn't have happened. They didn't deserve it. But I'm never going to think it wasn't worth it. Ever. The ends justify the means. You'll learn, my friend; you'll learn._

\------------------------------------------------------

 _What by the **Void** did you think you were doing? I've been trying to save her life!_

 **She called us 'demon'!** The inner voice was bewildered as well as enraged; perhaps bewildered at the rage.

 _Of course she bloody called us 'demon'! It's not as though we had a chance to explain! The fact that **anyone** understands this situation is a blighted miracle! She called you 'demon' and **then** your actions damn near proved her right!_

 **I did not act alone!**

 _I did not want her dead! I felt like a bloody puppet and--_

 **You may lie to your comrades, and you may even lie to yourself, but I know better. I knew no such petty rage until I joined with you. You were made complacent by Hawke's understanding and the appelation 'demon' was a slap in the face to us both. You _allowed_ this.**

Their exchange took no time at all to an outside observer - it happened in the split second where the lyrium fire running through Anders flashed star-bright and then went out, in the moment when he sagged with exhaustion as the power of a Fade spirit retreated to the haven of Anders' soul. He looked at Hawke, who was watching him with heartbreaking concern in her eyes, and shuddered. If she hadn't been there, how far would he have let things go? He _had_ allowed it, after all. He had such rage, and Justice had such ... direct ways of dealing with displeasure... Everyone around him was at risk. And it was as much his own fault as it was Justice's. He had to leave.

 **You would make others suffer the oppression of the Templars because of your inability to maintain self-control?**

 _Shut. Up._

He was in the middle of sorting through his belongings - an old Warden trick, the ability to throw away all but the essentials and start life all over again - when he heard footsteps and conversation outside. "...unwise to have such close dealings with a clearly unstable abomination."

"There's such a thing as a 'stable' abomination, Fenris?" Hawke sounded almost amused at the elf's stern chiding. "He's doing the best he can, and he did get hold of himself."

"An inch shy of killing an innocent. After, as has been proven, leading us on a fool's errand."

"Everything's clearer in hindsight," Hawke told him. "Anyway, killing Ser Alrik made it worth it for me. Call it ... insurance. If the Templars ever decide to ignore my money and influence and stick me in the Gallows, at least I won't ever have to be locked up with _him_."

He could almost feel Fenris' glare through the door. "They will not take you."

To Anders' surprise, Justice echoed that sentiment, and Anders wished for the ability to glare at the inside of his own head. _Oh, no; not going there. I'm leaving before I hurt these people._

 **You would deny her our strength and skill, after all her selfless aid, simply because you do not wish to watch her court the elf?**

 _STOP. BEING. RIGHT._ With that, he slammed an internal door on the Justice-voice and returned to his packing, trying to ignore the conversation going on outside.

The conversation came to him, in the end, along with a document that caused a rumble of approval at the back of his mind. **They know what is just,** he thought, and Anders longed to believe that, but a part of him knew better. This was not the happy ending it appears to be. Nothing was black and white; things in the waking world were as mutable and unsure as things in the Fade, and this was just a breathing space. Still, it was a well-earned one, and Anders sat Hawke down again, healed the wounds her own abbreviated healing magics could not fully staunch - wounds he had neglected to heal when he abandoned his allies and fled from his actions. As he did, he basked in the knowledge that his current actions were _right_ , that feeling that only came when all sides of him were in agreement.

It came so rarely these days, that feeling.

\--------------------------------------------------

Anders examined his ingredients, thinking over the last two pieces that he'd need and formulating a plan. Even as it formed, Justice spoke up, enraged. **You would lie to her? _Her_ , of all people?**

 _If I tell her..._ He couldn't even put the rest into words. She might try to stop him, and what would he do then? Could he fight her, if she stood in his way? The very idea caused a blaze of disapproval that was almost physical pain in the back of his head. Worse, what if she wanted to help yet more? Would it be any more just to let her bind herself to this course of action, which even he knew was downright suicidal? _She doesn't deserve the stress knowing this will bring._

 **Then why bring her into it at all?** Justice was, as ever, implacable. **You made your offer so that we, together, might end the oppression of mages throughout the world. We said nothing of conscripting the unwilling, the unknowing. The Chantry must fall; it is an obstacle that must be destroyed. There, we agree. But this? This is unworthy. This is unjust. You would lie to her, make her an unknowing accomplice. How might she defend herself from the consequences, if she does not even know the deed?**

"There will be no consequences for her!" He was barely aware that he had spoken aloud in his agitation. He knew that Justice was probably right, but... "I will shield her from the consequences, but I need her help! You know what the sewers are like! You saw the creatures in the Bone Pit! There's something every time we go there! Dragons, spiders, undead, more dragons! I can't do this alone! If something kills me, this all ends!"

 **You faced the Blight. You have fought darkspawn. You bested the Templars. We survived a year in Darktown shielded by naught but goodwill. We have survived much without Hawke. We will prevail, as we always have. Turn away from this unworthy course and--**

"No!" Anders shoved the ingredients he had already managed back into his sack and dumped the sack in a crate, shielding them from prying eyes. "I _need_ her. If you want justice for the mages as much as I do, you'll _shut up_ and let me handle it my way."

Justice said nothing, but he could feel the disapproving rumble like the start of a three-day headache at the bottom of his mind.

"...She'll thank me for it later," he said. "I'm doing this for her too. All mages. Everywhere. She'll never have to fear the Gallows again." He did not need Justice to tell him that he was lying to himself. He heard the hesitance in his voice - the mark of a poor, unconvincing liar. But Justice did not try to talk him out of it, and for that he was grateful.

When Hawke came in a short while later, with cheese buns from a Hightown baker and a quip about, "Heard you lost your last copper in that last game of Diamondback so I thought I'd bring a treat to ease the pain", Justice rose up as he said, "I'm working on something, and I thought you'd want to be part of it." Anders could feel the next words out of his mouth wanting to be about the explosives, about the Chantry, but he hardened his heart and drove away both Justice and his conscience. The words about a potion to separate himself from Justice came easily, naturally, and Hawke never saw the lie coming. It hurt his heart to know how badly he was abusing the simple trust that she had placed in him. Justice was right; this was unfair.

He did it anyway, despite the chorus of **Unjust! Unworthy! Unfair!** that Justice set up in his head. The litany lasted for days; Justice was nothing if not patient. Anders never knew if the sleepless nights he spent were only caused by Justice, or if his own conscience played a part, but it wouldn't have mattered. His course was set, and he had come so far now, and lost so much, that surely it would not be right not to see the thing through.

Sometimes he nearly believed that.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Justice never said 'I told you so', not even when Hawke looked at him, eyes filled with dreadful certainty, and asked, "What have you done?"

Not even when the explosion had wreaked its visually impressive havoc on Hightown and the truth came out; when Hawke's face turned pure white with shock and horror and self-recrimination and she said, "This ... this is why you wanted me to distract the Grand Cleric, isn't it?"

Not even when she called him a murderer.

Anders actively poked the other part of himself while his fate was discussed among the members of the vengeful mob. _Are you even listening to any of this?_

 **Are you? It is no more and no less than we deserve. I accept her words because they are true. They are fair. They are just. The Chantry ... that was justice for all who have suffered under its semi-benign neglect and the sadism of its warmakers. The lies to Hawke, her involvement in this course of action without her knowledge or consent, was injustice. She has every right to speak these things. We betrayed her.**

Anders stood his ground, though he suddenly felt very tired. _I can't afford to think about that right now. If I'm going to die, I'm going to do it with dignity. Martyrs have to have at least a little bit of dignity. And maybe you'll finally be free of me, if she kills me._

 **It would be her right to do so,** came the implacable voice that was so much a part of him. Then, a little surprisingly, a question. **And you will be free of me as well, then? That is your wish?**

Anders looked at the pain he'd caused, the chaos around him, and gave an imperceptible shake of the head. _Look at them,_ he thought, as much in wonder as anything else. There stood Fenris, who hated all mages except Hawke and would gladly see them all wiped off the map, standing to defend the mages whose fate Anders had sealed when he sparked off a war. There stood Isabela, notorious for getting out while the getting was good, announcing her intent to stick around to do what was right. Even Aveline, bastion of law and order, paragon of justice second only to Justice himself, took the mages' part in all of this. This group of people, he knew, were capable of great things, and with them on the side of the mages, Anders' vision of freedom for all mages stood a much better chance of becoming reality.

 **They do not do this for you,** Justice pointed out as Orsino left him for Hawke and his erstwhile friends to 'deal with'. **They do not fight for you, or for the mages. They fight for Hawke.**

 _That doesn't matter._ Anders realised the truth of his words only when he had formed them in his head. _What matters is that they're fighting._

Somewhere far away, Anders heard Sebastian demand vengeance in the form of Anders' lifeless corpse, heard agreement from all but Varric, who remained neutral, and Merrill, whose words about making amends got a rumble of approval from Justice and a stifled roll of the eyes from Anders himself. Sebastian made threats, and Justice complained bitterly over them - **Planning to make a whole city pay for an individual's actions is the height of injustice** \- and it seemed fairly clear what had to happen, if Hawke was truly going to save lives. Anders didn't mind, particularly; he had resigned himself to his own death at the start of all this.

He spoke to Hawke, but was barely aware of his own words. "There's nothing you can say that I haven't already said to myself," he'd said, and he realised that this was true, one way or another. As he spoke to Hawke, he kept himself at a distance from the conversation. While it was fair and just and right that she hate him for what he'd dragged her into, for how he'd lied to her and used her, he wanted to remember cheese buns and games of Wicked Grace. He wanted to hold how they had helped each other improve their magics close to his heart, in nearly the same spot where he wore the Tevinter amulet she'd given him one day. He clung to every kind word, hoping that one day they would come back to her. Hoping that, even if he didn't deserve it, there would be fond memories of him when this was over.

As the sound of steel against sheath reached his ears, Justice spoke up again, almost hesitantly. **...That they fight for their friend rather than the cause at hand ... is this justice?**

 _No_ , Anders thought as the knife found his back. _But this is._

His last thought was a rumble of approval, and the peace that came when both sides of himself agreed.


End file.
